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Mark St. Amant

Fantasy Man-Crush Index

Surprise, Surprise

One benefit of my now three-month stint on the workforce DL has been extra time to play pickup hoops at a nearby park. It's great exercise, gets me out of the house and takes my mind off my most stressful life issues – namely, is Jimmy Rollinsreally back or is he just on another cute little hot streak before completely decimating our teams again? (What, did you think that finding a job/supporting my growing family causes me more stress than Rollins? You should know me better than that by now.)

Of the twelve or so regulars, I'm usually about the ninth or tenth best baller: not great, but not bad. Usually 40-ish % from 3-point range. Meddlesome defensive hands and deceptive quickness for a 41-year-old. Great assist-to-turnover ratio. In short, I'm a poor man's -- no, a homeless man's -- wait, a dead man's -- no, a homeless dead man's Jose Calderon (if Calderon resembled a slightly paunchier Greg Kinnear and had to play wearing deep sea diving boots.)

Anyway, the other day during some full-court 5-on-5, over walked a dumpy, hairy, balding-on-top/ponytail-in-back white guy. About 6'4" and easily three flabby bills, he was sporting the Celtics headband-wristbands-tube socks trifecta, baggy Celtics shorts and a #20 Ray Allen jersey, all of which were two sizes too small. And the cherry on his sports nerd sundae: he was rockin' the Breathe-Right strip and wearing yellow-tinted protective goggles . . . over his actual glasses. I wish I were kidding. Think Kareem-meets-this guy.

After loosening up on the sidelines with some squat-thrusts and deep knee bends, he then yelled out, to no one in particular, "I got next, baby!" He was either a crackhead or an escaped mental patient (who apparently had a running tab at the Celtics pro shop). But he had size, and my team needed a "big." So I hoped that maybe, just maybe, his appearance was merely a ruse to lull competition into a false sense of security before unleashing some Earl "The Goat" Manigault/Rucker Park domination, and I fed him the ball as much as possible to start, to welcome him to the team.

And he wasn't nearly as bad as he looked . . . he was worse. Awkwardly hoisting long threes. Flopping in the lane to draw charges (in a non-refereed pickup game). Recklessly driving from practically mid-court and shooting arc-less line drives that rebounded like an outlet pass and started fast breaks for the other team. All while talking "streetball smack" that he must've looked up on Wikipedia yet didn't use quiiiite right ("They call me the Bus Driver because I drive children to school!")

After realizing that he was an actual guy and not Sacha Baron Cohen just screwing with us, I instantly became ashamed not just for him, but for our whole race. Let's be honest: despite a few Larry Birds, Steve Nashes and a handful of flashy Euros, we still have a long way to go before we achieve hoops equality. So I wanted him – needed him – to be good. Yet here was Cable Guy, setting my people back decades with every awkward moving pick or hamfisted, behind-the-back pass hurled into the adjacent dog park. He was the anti-Rosa Parks . . . in a wedgie-tight Ray Allen uniform.

Point is, in real life and in roto, looks are sometimes not deceiving. At all. If a player showed telltale signs of sucking heading into this season – age, injuries, contract malaise, annually plummeting OPS or skyrocketing WHIP, wearing goggles over his glasses, you name it – then why should we be surprised when he actually does suck? Case in point, I had bad gut feelings about guys like Rollins (sucked most of first half), Big Papi (ditto), Garrett Atkins (sucked all first half), Russell Martin (now sucks at stealing bases and hitting home runs), and more, yet still deceived myself into drafting/buying them in all my leagues . . . because I hoped that my eyes didn't deceive me.

Speaking of surprises, I now present the most pleasant and unpleasant first half surprises at each position. . . followed by the player who will surprise most/whom I'd like to buy low & own in the second half.

Second half surprise -- Joey Votto. Seems to be over the unfortunate anxiety issues stemming from his father's death, hitting .372 with 2 HR and 8 RBI in 12 post-DL games.

One benefit of my now three-month stint on the workforce DL has been extra time to play pickup hoops at a nearby park. It's great exercise, gets me out of the house and takes my mind off my most stressful life issues – namely, is Jimmy Rollinsreally back or is he just on another cute little hot streak before completely decimating our teams again? (What, did you think that finding a job/supporting my growing family causes me more stress than Rollins? You should know me better than that by now.)

Of the twelve or so regulars, I'm usually about the ninth or tenth best baller: not great, but not bad. Usually 40-ish % from 3-point range. Meddlesome defensive hands and deceptive quickness for a 41-year-old. Great assist-to-turnover ratio. In short, I'm a poor man's -- no, a homeless man's -- wait, a dead man's -- no, a homeless dead man's Jose Calderon (if Calderon resembled a slightly paunchier Greg Kinnear and had to play wearing deep sea diving boots.)

Anyway, the other day during some full-court 5-on-5, over walked a dumpy, hairy, balding-on-top/ponytail-in-back white guy. About 6'4" and easily three flabby bills, he was sporting the Celtics headband-wristbands-tube socks trifecta, baggy Celtics shorts and a #20 Ray Allen jersey, all of which were two sizes too small. And the cherry on his sports nerd sundae: he was rockin' the Breathe-Right strip and wearing yellow-tinted protective goggles . . . over his actual glasses. I wish I were kidding. Think Kareem-meets-this guy.

After loosening up on the sidelines with some squat-thrusts and deep knee bends, he then yelled out, to no one in particular, "I got next, baby!" He was either a crackhead or an escaped mental patient (who apparently had a running tab at the Celtics pro shop). But he had size, and my team needed a "big." So I hoped that maybe, just maybe, his appearance was merely a ruse to lull competition into a false sense of security before unleashing some Earl "The Goat" Manigault/Rucker Park domination, and I fed him the ball as much as possible to start, to welcome him to the team.

And he wasn't nearly as bad as he looked . . . he was worse. Awkwardly hoisting long threes. Flopping in the lane to draw charges (in a non-refereed pickup game). Recklessly driving from practically mid-court and shooting arc-less line drives that rebounded like an outlet pass and started fast breaks for the other team. All while talking "streetball smack" that he must've looked up on Wikipedia yet didn't use quiiiite right ("They call me the Bus Driver because I drive children to school!")

After realizing that he was an actual guy and not Sacha Baron Cohen just screwing with us, I instantly became ashamed not just for him, but for our whole race. Let's be honest: despite a few Larry Birds, Steve Nashes and a handful of flashy Euros, we still have a long way to go before we achieve hoops equality. So I wanted him – needed him – to be good. Yet here was Cable Guy, setting my people back decades with every awkward moving pick or hamfisted, behind-the-back pass hurled into the adjacent dog park. He was the anti-Rosa Parks . . . in a wedgie-tight Ray Allen uniform.

Point is, in real life and in roto, looks are sometimes not deceiving. At all. If a player showed telltale signs of sucking heading into this season – age, injuries, contract malaise, annually plummeting OPS or skyrocketing WHIP, wearing goggles over his glasses, you name it – then why should we be surprised when he actually does suck? Case in point, I had bad gut feelings about guys like Rollins (sucked most of first half), Big Papi (ditto), Garrett Atkins (sucked all first half), Russell Martin (now sucks at stealing bases and hitting home runs), and more, yet still deceived myself into drafting/buying them in all my leagues . . . because I hoped that my eyes didn't deceive me.

Speaking of surprises, I now present the most pleasant and unpleasant first half surprises at each position. . . followed by the player who will surprise most/whom I'd like to buy low & own in the second half.

Unpleasant -- I pimped Mike Aviles left and right as being no fluke last season, and took him in every league a round or two early. Turns out, a near-30-year-old who hit .325 in 419 career MLB at-bats was, in fact, a fluke. Shocker! (Honorable mention: Dustin Pedroia's 3 HR, which actually shouldn't have surprised anyone; Alexei Ramirez killing owners early; Howie Kendrick's demotion.)

Second half surprise -- Jose Lopez. One of my other favorite under-the-radar 2Bs on draft day, Lopez started horribly (.233 in April & May) but hit .329 with 5 HR and 20 RBI in June. A recent bereavement leave derailed him a little bit, and he's a notorious second half slumper, but I'm a buyer because he's streaky and in that magical age 27ish season.

Second half surprise -- Asdrubal Cabrera. His DL stint took him off people's radar a bit, but he's still in the midst of a breakout season (.304/41 R).

THIRD BASE:Pleasant -- While David Wright's 20 SBs are nice after totaling only 15 last year, they're offset by his mere 5 HR. And Scott Rolen's nice resurgence (.327, 44 R) has also come without much power (6 HR). So Mark Reynolds' .269/24 HR/61 RBI/53 R/13 SB line wins easily here considering his cost. I don't see him running as much in the second half – only 3-5 in June after going 8-for-10 in May -- but at age 25 in a HR-friendly park, a 40 HR/20-25 SB season is almost a lock. (Honorable mention: Chone Figgins' .325 AVG, 50 SB pace and 3B-leading 61 Runs; Marco Scutaro's 60 Runs.)

Second half surprise -- Over his career, pre- and post-All-Star-Game, Aubrey Huff has traditionally ramped up his AVG (.272 to .302), HR (92 to 107), SLG (.447 to .519) OPS (.779 to .876) and cut down in his Ks (373 to 298). Buy.

Second half surprise -- While I like Sizemore to finish strong health permitting, I gotta go with Nick Markakis. Maybe we expected too much (only 8 HR and 2 SB, along with a sub-.300 AVG), but he could be had relatively low and his career .798 to .913 OPS second-half surge could be yours. Deep runner-up: Colby Rasmus.

Unpleasant -- Congratulations to Daisuke Matsuzaka's 1-5 record and 823.00 ERA (okay, 8.23 but still . . .)! And Brandon Webb's secret shoulder boo boo! Oh, and would-be unanimous Cy Young winner Dan Haren's run support (okay, not his fault)! And Scott Kazmir's early implosion!

Second half surprise -- Nolasco is an obvious one as he's already turning things around. Ditto Francisco Liriano (like Rollins, he's been one of my favorite punching bags, but last three starts (19 IP) he's averaging a hair under 7.0 IP/7 Ks per, with a 2.66 ERA, lowering his ERA since June 5 from 6.12 to 5.49.) But I'm going with Kazmir. Two straight quality starts - one in Texas - since the quad injury.

Final random thoughts that didn't make it in above, but bear mentioning because I'm traveling out west next week -- for a job interview of all things! – and won't be writing a column, so I have to cram a bunch of extra drivel into this one . . .

I've enjoyed my interaction with you guys and everyone else on Twitter. Love sharing random fantasy nuggets. Love Twitter's marketing/branding possibilities. Love that it now keeps companies on their toes because customers can now provide instant criticism or praise (but mostly criticism). But two things drive me absolutely batpoop crazy: (1) People who tweet incessantly about how awesome Twitter/social media is. These are probably the same people who go to a concert, buy the band's brand new concert T and then wear it over their original shirt at that very same concert; and (2) People whose only contributions are either "witty, weird Steven Wright-esque asides/observations" that are neither witty nor weird nor Steven Wright-esque, or inspirational quotes whose only inspiration is inspiring me to go on a 13-state killing spree . . . starting with people who only tweet inspirational quotes.

So phenom Cuban LHP Aroldis Chapman – Chapman, being another traditional Cuban surname, like "Lowell" – defected on July 3 by walking out of his hotel. That's great, but do they really need to call it "defecting" anymore? Maybe when defecting involved using bamboo strands to sew together a crude raft of discarded trash bags and goat bladders and casting off into the darkness through 90 miles of shark-infested waters while Castro soldiers fire automatic weapons at you. Now? You just casually stroll out of a Four Seasons after the complimentary champagne-and-strawberry breakfast, hop into a waiting Hummer H3 and sign a 4-year/$60 mil deal. A MLB team could at least make the guy swim through a shark tank first and earn it.

You want to bitch about Reyes, Jhonny Peralta, Stephen Drew, Hardy, then fine. Be my guest. But why do we see "Hanley Ramirez" and "bust" so often on roto message boards? That's idiotic. He's at .346/14 HR/60 RBI/51 R/12 SB. Not good enough for you? I'll take him, please and thank you.

The U.S. almost upsetting powerhouse Brasil was the single most exciting game in American "futbol" history. But not all that surprising, considering we had Vin Diesel in net. He drives cars fast and furiously, don't you know.

Had a Twitter exchange with Rotoworld's stellar golf writer Rob Bolton (@buzzbolton), who mentioned Eric Chavez as possibly the best player never to make an All-Star game. A good one for sure, but I saw his Chavez and raised him a Kirk Gibson (didn't even make it in his '88 MVP year). Other semi-surprises: Pat Burrell. Adrian Beltre. Carlos Pena. Tim Salmon. Eric Karros. Richard Hidalgo. Mike Torrez. Danny Darwin. Richie Hebner. Ridiculous, Red Sox selections over the years: Scott Cooper in '93 and '94; Mark Loretta in '06; Jason Varitek last year. Ridiculous snubs this year: Ian Kinsler; Choo; Gallardo; Sandoval. Giving everyday fans an All-Star vote is like giving a teenagers a bottle of Jager and the keys to a Ducati.

Finally, I always answer emails, and invite you to contact me with trade questions, drop/adds, etc. And it's funny, I get so many "Wow, I never thought you'd write back!" responses. Have you people been treated that badly by your allegedly "way too busy for the common folk" fantasy experts? Trust me, we're not bent over Petri dishes every moment of every day trying to cure cancer. Seriously, is it that hard to respond to someone who's taken time out of his/her day to write you? It's just common courtesy. That said, I beg you, please keep your questions nice and short (unlike this column) Nothing makes me reach for the secret trap door button under my desk faster than opening a 23-part magnum opus with Roman numeraled subsections, Powerpoint slides and other various appendices. (Honest to God, I once got a 23-part question about a series of trades, moves, and counter moves he might make. I had to look twice to make sure it wasn't from Thomas.Pynchon@gmail.com.)

For two seasons, Mark St. Amant was the fantasy football writer for the New York Times.com. He is also the author of Committed: Confessions of a Fantasy Football Junkie and Just Kick It: Tales of an Underdog, Over-Age, Out-of-Place Semi-Pro Football Player, and has written for New York Times, Boston Globe Magazine and Salon.com.Email :Mark St. Amant